The miracle that is frozen water

Just got the most amazing zit-killer tip from a new island gal who is doing facials for the Ritz-Carlton on St. Thomas. Ice them puppies! No kidding. I swear it works immediately.

Poop

So what happens when you find yourself in a job that you like, but you really suck at? And since this here job all comes down to numbers and I am not performing, then what? I guess I'm not that into the job, but what else am I supposed to do here...don't want to get into too deep of a commitment. I always tisked tisked the people you hear about that slave away at lame careers. Why don't they do something else? Now I know why. It's called being grown up. And making sacrifices for those we love. Mantra...it will all be over soon, there is a bigger picture (repeat 15,694 times).

Thou art a catchy phrase

I've never seen a place so well defined by its bumperstickers as St. John. I grew up in Wyoming, and even though we could sport the random bucking bronc or "Wrangler butts drive me nuts", they weren't strictly for a certain town and certainly were not necessarily indicative of the environment. Seattle and Cape Town, South African hardly had anything meaningful, and not even NYC. But welcome to St. John! Maybe because it is such a tourist destination, and a lot of locals take such ownership over its beauty, ironies, and oddities. Here is a tell-tale bumpersticker sampling that gives you a good idea about this place:

-We're all here, 'cuz we're not all there
-St. John: world's largest open air asylum
-The odds are good, but the goods are odd (my favorite)

I know I'm forgetting some, but you get the idea. All appropriate and very much defining of my daily life. I'm surrounded by a bunch of freaks.

We tried

Had a date with Jason last night...a little picnic out on Peace Hill on the North Shore. Usually it is a great view for the sunset, but the vegetation was overgrown. There were also a lot of mosquitoes, and A LOT of ants. They invaded our picnic in a big way. It was time to make a quick move out when I saw 2 piles-one on each side of us-of thousands of ants in about a 4 inch diameter area. Yick. But the food was also good once we got back to our usual dining area at home...the bed. Terrible but true, our apartment size does not allow for chairs. Some photos from our short excursion...

Mosquito Whisperer

First off, is Jason naked? I'll leave you guessing on that one. Just know, we live in a very warm climate where minimal to no clothing is the most desirable state of being.

Also in this warm climate we have mosquitoes. Lots of mosquitoes. We just get used to having around 3 or more lively little houseguests at any given time. This situation is generally fine and not too bothersome. One gets immune over time to the bites. But they are a nuisance, and when you get the occasional one that makes the buzzing noise...eh! Lucky for me, I have a boyfriend who really has a talent for killing these critters.

One normally wouldn't think of such a thing as a "talent", but trust me, it is. I often awake in the night to the swoosh noise of the racket sailing through the air. He can do it in the dark! Such a gratifying sound the crackle when one is hit (plus in the dark there is a great spark). And when I am being bothered in bed by one buzzing in my ear, it doesn't matter the ungodly hour, I just poke my man in the side and the racket is waving quickly over my head in a matter of seconds. It is really amazing that he has yet to hit me, which I must admit I am pretty grateful for. I shocked myself with one of those rackets once (everyone has to do it once) and it gives quite the jolt.

The science of the mosquito way is quite complicated...something I never realized until I lived on St. John. You have the 'disappearing mosquito' that just magically vanishes, the 'fat and happy mosquito' that is full of blood and lounging somewhere waiting to make a blood baby, and the 'camouflage mosquito' that flies around dark fabrics and other shady areas. Jason rules them all. Seriously! It is one of those things that he can do that I just can't. Sure, the occasional one dies in my clapping hands, but I have nothing on him. HE IS MY HERO!

You would understand if you lived here, which you likely don't, so pooh! By the way, itching a mosquito bite on my left leg as I write.

My island weekend

A commendation to those friends who have made it to this little island paradise in the 3+ years I've been here, and a rattle to the cages of those who have not. Here is a little insight into my simple existence. Not a thrilling post, as my life is certainly far from that, just a little idea of how I live down here.

This weekend I was fortunate enough to have 2 days off in a row. It also happened that they were actual weekend days. So here is what I did:

Saturday...after the mission of doing laundry, I drove over to visit my friend Nancy in Coral Bay where she bartends at Aqua Bistro.




I got to hang out with my friend Marvin and his brother Bre. They were testing my brain with riddles and puzzles after I was a few drinks in, which made me feel a bit stupid.


And then...a road beer for the ride back to Cruz Bay. Here is a view overlooking Coral Bay from the drive home. It has been so brown and dead. Ready for this dry season to get over. Still has a little charm.


A little nap followed by a dinner out with the ladies made for a super duper Saturday. And then Sunday...

We decided to celebrate our friend Jess's 30th a few weeks late since we couldn't make it to the original party. Jason and I had brunch with her and her girls Vanessa and Briana, then off to Gibney Beach for some sun and cocktails.

Like a flailing spider

I am 5'7". Jason is 6'1". Our limbs are the same length. Arms, legs, fingers,toes. I am gangly.

Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice

My friend Cara and her little whippersnapper Sophie visited this week. I wish I could have spent more time with these awesome ladies, but alas, life is tricky. Here are some photos from our afternoon at windy Cinnamon Bay. Sorry about those squinty eye pictures Cara!

This is how rumours get started

My cousin Stacey calls me today to ask what is going on with my youngest sister Martha. Nothing of which I am aware. She proceeds to tell me that our grandmother reported to her that my sister was stabbed by an immigrant. Yes. Stabbed by an immigrant. My reaction is to laugh and shake my head. I love my grandma, but as she's gotten older she tends to convince herself of more elaborate and false stories. Although, now I'm wondering because I've called her twice and asked her in both messages, "Hey, were you stabbed by an immigrant?" No answer yet! Keep you posted.

In Retrospect

I should not be so cruel about other people's blogs. That is mean of me and I will try harder in the future to be more kindhearted. And really, I obsessively read what these people write several times a week. Why do I enjoy torturing myself so?

Why, oh why?

Why do I have a blog?

I'm crazy.

But not crazy enough to write posts like I'm writing a damn diary.

And not crazy enough to have a blog dedicated to how incredibly fabulous my pregnancy/child is (btw...I am not pregnant and have no child, so I obviously do not understand). Cliche and dull.

Maybe when I move back to Seattle I won't have so much time on my hands. After all, Joy and I think we should start a nail biz where we can smoke chron and drink wine all day while watching daytime television. Work would be involved too. It would be absolutely necessary for Angie and Lani to bury those post-grad degrees in some dusty chest and become estheticians for us. Push Michael to lean toward dermatology in med school. And Didi...you can do hair extensions. Then I won't have time or inclination to write things (too stoned!). Kidding about the drugs, of course.

But a blog. So, yeah. If this is how my entries go, we're all in for a thrill ride.

Let's get this party started right

My downstairs neighbor Tyler came over last night, as he sometimes does, for a quick chat on his way to his apartment. Tyler is very excited as he is surprising his boyfriend Kenny with a trip to see Cher in Las Vegas for his birthday. They really love to hook one another up with great gifts…in previous years we’ve seen trips to Dolly Parton’s Dollywood and a quick flight to LA for Madonna. Needless to say Kenny will be excited to his core, even if the only outward enthusiasm he can muster will be a “Great. Thank you,” with a smile as he looks back down at his crossword and sips his Stoli drink.

So Tyler was telling me about his new brilliant plan to take this Vegas trip to the next level. Get Kenny a monkey to escort them in their limo from the airport! Kenny really enjoys monkeys.

As Tyler is telling me the story of how he called a Las Vegas zoo and spoke to a manager there to see about getting a monkey for a few hours, I shook my head with a bewildered smile on my face (as often happens when Tyler talks). When he finished recapping his phone call, our conversation went a little something like this…

Me: So you told the zoo that you needed to have the monkey for a few hours because your boyfriend is really into monkeys? And that you needed some one on one private time with the monkey? Because you really want your boyfriend to have a monkey experience? Maybe if they could make a special trainer available?

Tyler: Oh. (silence) Oh NO! (Hysterical laughter)

Me: You may need to think this through before you call the next monkey people.